The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2You now, O king, possess the lands,
Which as their own men once could claim;
And chiefs, who led their faithful bands,
Are stript of wealth, and brought to shame.
Men blameless, free from slightest taint,
Within that fearful net are snared;
While others walk without restraint,
Whose guilt is openly declared.
3A wise man builds the city wall;
But a wise woman throws it down.
Wise is she? Good you may her call;—
She is an owl we should disown! p. 428
To woman's tongue let length be given,
And step by step to harm it leads.
Disorder does not come from Heaven;
’Tis woman's tongue disorder breeds.
Women and eunuchs! Never came
Lesson or warning word from them!
4Hurtful and false, their spite they wreak;
And when exposed their falsehood lies,
The wrong they do not own, but sneak,
And say, "No harm did we devise."
Thrice cent. per cent! Why that is trade,
And would the wise man but disgrace.
Public affairs to wife and maid
Must not silkworms and looms displace.
5 Why is it Heaven thus sends reproof?
Why have the spirits ceased to bless?
From the wild Ti you keep aloof,
And me would in your wrath oppress.
Omens of ill you slight, though rife;
Nor for your outward bearing care.
The good fly from the scene of strife;
Ruin impends, and blank despair. p. 429
6Heaven's awful net o’erhangs the land,
Full of more woes than tongue can tell.
The good retire on every hand.
What sorrows in my bosom swell!
Near and more near the net of Heaven!
Soon will its meshes all enfold.
Good men are from their duties driven,
And how can grief of mine be told?
7The waters bubbling up make known
How deep and strong the spring below;
And long the inward grief has grown,
From which my words of sorrow flow.
Why came not this ere I was born?
Why happened it ere I was dead?
Yet still the sorrowing and forlorn
Great and mysterious Heaven can aid.
O king, your sires no more disgrace!
So may you save your future race.